Enrapture
by Toffke
Summary: Love doesn't have to be always sunshine and roses to be beautiful. Sometimes, you just really, really want the other person. Their love, told from the dominant point of view. [Oneshot, maybe]


[A/N: Are you ready to be surprised? This is my first time writing porn-ish stuff! I'm super proud of the fact I put some puns in. Also someone help me edit this…]

He's beautiful, isn't he. Laying on my bed like this, with the sheets framing his lean, _sed-uc-tive_ body in bunches like roses. Sometimes this strange urge comes, and I simply cannot help but lie in wait until he falls asleep and then feast my gaze upon him in the moonlight. Touch his lips: soft but chapped, worn yet innocent. Cup my hands around his face and stare, at that regal yet alluring mask, stripped of all his worries and insecurities. Beautiful. Lift his head, watch the open arch of his neck and the gentle slide of his rich hair, see the light pool on the slopes of his clean features: a vulnerable prince to be worshipped! Oh, god, I am a lucky bastard to have him.

I crouch to kiss his collarbone, he murmurs in his sleep. I am in rapture. I kiss the weak flesh under his jaw, only to be disappointed there is no response. It's good to place my cheek against the crook of his neck, to be lulled by the faint pulse of his heartbeat and console myself with the knowledge that he is mine. And mine alone.

I am caught unawares by my smile. It's a natural, subconscious response to this wonderful train of thought. There is no doubt that I am beaming now, since I feel my heart swollen with joy and excitement. _He_ loves this particular expression. He looks so happy when he sees it that it seems he's fallen in love with me anew. But he can't see it now, he's not allowed to. These precious moments when he is asleep are the only times I have to express my whole love, the entirety of this force kept under lock and key that eats at me every goddam day because if I let it go, it'll eat him up, and he'd run away from me. I can't have that. I can't imagine how unbearably painful that end would be, but I'm certain it's magnitudes worse than whatever emotions flood me daily. I just have to consummate this urge once in a while, just enough to stave off insanity.

Because I love him, I love him _sooo_ much. I trail my hand down around his neck, so long and elegant. I want him begging with all the curves on his body, offering himself to me. Because I _own_ him. I want to see his eyes sink back with lust, to see that small mouth fall open with pleasure, I want to press my dick against his face, make him use his entrancing tongue to lick come off my fingers, to drive him crazy! Just as he does to me.

But I can't, not yet. He's shy, you know, and inexperienced. When I first met him, thought he was nothing special, a soft-spoken, unconfident young man with a pretty face, a decent track record in our industry, and, judging by the surreptitious glances he sent my way, someone who held me in high regard. I thought he was too unsure and too boring, really, for me to want to pursue, and, something further damning, I saw him as a child, younger than Yuri even, due to my preconceptions. I was wrong. He surprised me. I love surprises. And I started to love him.

It began with the skating. He's not particularly well trained in jumping and technique, but he has an innate sense of rhythm and flow rooted in his fearlessness on ice. He skates and spins recklessly and daringly, like he wants to fall, and his movements therefore are free and without tension. He's a contradiction! How could such a scared, sensitive boy not act on incontrollable reflex, the telltale sign of our innate fear of falling? How wonderful! How beautiful! What an inspiration!

I travelled to meet and train him because it was interesting. I wanted him to dance to my Eros because only he can create the perfect image of temptation on ice: an incubus with such overwhelming confidence and control that the audience has no hope but to submit! He fulfilled my expectations. He is a magnificent work of art, something that enslaves the viewer. And I loved him, just like all the others.

It's kind of foolish to fall for your own machinations, but I suppose, for an artist, it's also the pinnacle of achievement. You can't blame me for doing so. Come and look, look at this wonderful, graceful leg, the way his body bends and his shirt rises to reveal paradise when I raise his back. The way he sighs when I kiss the tips of his ears, the nape of his neck, the rise of his chest, the swoop of the rib bones that jut from his side. Look at his hand on mine, the way our fingers entwine, like he was meant to be mine… look at me. Ha-ha-ha, look at what this vixen has done to me. I'm quite fond of him actually, the alluring sucker.

I said he was shy and inexperienced, because he excessively self-censors unless he comes under duress, and because, when this happens, he flirts like a slut come payday without care for the consequences. What a _tease_! It's unbearable to get a glimpse of that golden fruit and then see it wrapped up again. Unbearably exciting. Does he even realize it himself? Eros and Agape united in one being, in his love for me! How lucky!

Ah, I feel like I want to devour him. Pull down the collar of his nightshirt, see these bumps? Feel here, it's the tip of the center of the ribcage. Press down, can you feel him tremble? It's because it's close to his heart. I have such deep desire for him. I don't think he even suspects. I can only wait and meet him halfway, until he decides to come to me. A long torturous wait, but I can do it. I will do anything, _anything_ , to taste that fruit.

[A/N: Extra Part! Yay!]

Yuuri stirred as he started to regain consciousness and lifted an arm to block the warm, lazy rays of morning sun. The bed was cold, and his hazy mind reasoned Viktor had probably woken early to make breakfast and left him to sleep. Nice of him. This doesn't happen frequently, but then again yesterday had been an unusual night.

He found himself missing his usual wake-up kiss.

He clambered out of the bed and quickly pulled on some brown jeans. His closet was still mostly unrecognizable to him. After the Grand Prix, Viktor had bought a lot of new clothes for him for the reasons of, quote, him being famous and needing an image, unquote, or something. He was not certain of, but was pretty sure that Viktor had other reasons. He blushed. Oh well, he thought, ducking into the kitchen to find his coach, it made him rather happy to have someone who loved him as much as Viktor did.

[A/N: Sorry, I got too lazy to write out Yuuri brushing his teeth. All of this is up to interpretation :^)]


End file.
